On our wedding anniversary evening, my husband soberly raised his glass. I followed his example, but suddenly noted: he had quietly poured something into my glass. A cold, anxious premonition clasped my stomach. I didn’t want to risk it.
When everyone was distracted, I carefully switched my glass for the glass of his sister, who was sitting next to me.
About ten minutes later we clattered glasses and drank. And almost immediately she felt ill. Screams, panic. My husband was surprised, as if he himself had almost fallen.
My head was asking: “What are you planning, darling?”
My sister was taken away by ambulance. Everyone was in surprise.
“How did this happen?” he said excitedly. “No, she shouldn’t have been drinking… I definitely switched the glass!”
My heart sank. So I was not mistaken. He really wanted to destr0y me. All this was prepared for me.
Having quietly returned to the house, I took my place at the table again. I tried to breathe normally, to restrain my gaze.
Later he came up to me.
“How are you feeling?” he asked with a forced smile.
“Okay,” I replied. “And you?”
He hesitated.
And I knew: from this moment everything would change. But the main thing is that I am alive.
The next morning I arrived at the hospital. His sister was lying in the ward, pale, weak, but conscious.
The doctors said, “It was serious poisoning. She was lucky. If the dose had been a little higher…”
I nodded gratefully to fate. And to myself too.
At home he met me as if nothing had occured:
“How is she?” he asked.
I smiled.
“Alive. And I remember that the glasses were positioned differently,” I added.
He froze. His fingers trembled.
– What do you mean by this?
– Nothing yet. Just an observation.
– And you think about what you will tell the police if I decide to talk to them.
That night he didn’t sleep.
I started finding evidence. Correspondence, pharmacy receipts, phone records.
A week passed. My husband became nervous.
Unpredictedly for himself, he considered me as the “ideal wife” – affectionate, understanding, agreeing to everything.
I gave him everything I had collected: receipts from the pharmacy, a recording of the conversation, a screenshot of the correspondence from an unknown number, where my husband wrote:
“After the anniversary, everything will end.”
I played a role. Cooked dinners, listened to him, nodded. Until one evening.
We were sitting by the fireplace.
“To us,” he said.
“To us,” I repeated and… didn’t touch the glass.
At that moment there was a knock on the door. I stood up and opened it.
A policeman and a private detective stood at the threshold.
— Citizen Orlov, you are under arrest on suspicion of attempted murder.
– You… You set me up?
“No,” I came closer, looking straight into his eyes. “You set yourself up. I just survived.”
Two months passed.
The life was going on as usual. All the evidence was against him. He was sitting in a pretrial detention center, his lawyer looked dispirited.
It all seemed too normal. Too neat.
One evening I received a call from the pre-trial detention center.
– He wants to meet you. He says he will tell you the truth – only to you.
I looked at the phone for a long time. But curiosity won out.
“You know,” he leaned closer, “you got it all wrong. You weren’t the target.
I froze.
– What?
“It was all for her,” he chuckled. “For my sister. She knew too much. And demanded too much.
“You’re lying,” I muttered.
– Check her phone. See who she talked to. We’ll talk later.
I returned home in the early morning. I didn’t sleep until dawn. I opened an old tablet that belonged to his sister. What I looked inside made everything I knew upside down.
She was indeed playing a double game. Eavesdropping. Recording. Chatting with someone under the nickname “M.O.” One of her last messages knocked the wind out of her sails:
“If she doesn’t leave on her own, we’ll have to arrange an accident. My brother needs an incentive.”
I reread these lines over and over again. I was sh0cking.
My sister had already left the hospital, as if nothing had happened. She was smiling, baking pies, offering help.
I started looking for “M.O.”: contacts, numbers, traces in correspondence. It turned out that this is not just a person. This is a whole system. A shadow organization that solves “problems” for money. Big money.
It turns out that my husband wanted to delete my sister, and my sister wanted to remove me.
I decided to meet with “M.O.” – under a false name, with a fictitious story.
“Did you order the disappearance?” he asked.
“No,” I answered. “I came to offer cooperation.”
He looked at me carefully.
– What exactly?
I smiled.
— Information. Access to everyone who tried to get rid of me. In exchange — help. We can be useful to each other.
He took a sip of coffee.
– Do you want revenge?
– No. I want to control the game. It’s over. Now I decide who goes where.
I entered this world quietly.
“M.O.” understood: it is better to work with me than to conflict.
One night I came to her place unannounced. I sat down opposite her.
“I know about M.O.,” I said calmly. “And about your order for me.”
She turned pale.
– This… This is not true…
– It’s too late. I didn’t come for apologies. I’m giving you a choice.
I stood up and walked to the door.
– Then you will know what it is like when the glass suddenly becomes not yours.
And she left.
The next morning she was not home.
And I looked in the mirror and realized: the old me is no longer there.
Now I was a force.
I felt power. Almost divine. The very network I had entered accepted me – even feared me.
I began to control destinies like chess pieces. I could ruin or protect with one call. People spoke of me by other names. My past transformed into a legend.
But one day I received an envelope without an address. Inside was a photo. Mine. And a note. Just three words:
“You’re not the first.”
At that moment, everything destr0yed. I realized: behind this entire network, manipulation, even behind “M.O.” there is someone else.
I tried to find M.O., but he was gone. The network started to break down. People were disappearing.
Every night I feel someone’s gaze. Phone calls without words. It’s not paranoia – it’s a signal.
I had defeated my game… but found myself part of another – more ancient, more dangerous.
Now I live differently. Without a name. Without a past.
And I’m waiting.
